a black moon over the peacefield

"Shit," Dew says, and shoves his face back against the bed, bracing himself for whatever ends up coming next. No point in apologizing, he thinks, but he does anyway. Futile. It won't get him anywhere, and if he's being entirely honest, he wouldn't want it to. "Sorry?" Swiss parrots, and trails a gentle hand over a reddened cheek, almost lovingly. It inspires nothing more than a twist of dread, darkly exciting low in his stomach. "Not yet, but you will be. No blood left in your brain to remember your numbers?" Swiss continues to feel him, adding the barest hint of blunt nails on the next drag upwards. "Maybe we should restart." "If that's what you want," Dew says, and- listen, he's well aware he's goading him. He is very cognizant of how Swiss will react to that phrasing, but when you've got fire running through your veins, playing with other fires is a difficult habit to break. "Wasn't really asking for approval," Swiss says, and traces a finger between the cleft, suggestive and pleasant enough that Dew cannot help himself from grinding against the bed again. It's so gentle, so tender. Poisoned honey, as Swiss is so good at offering him. "Thanks anyway." The hit is expected, but it's hard. The smack cuts through the stillness of the room, matched by Dew's yelp.

"One," he says, and barely has enough time to draw another full breath before the second and third come in quick succession, every bit as painful and thrilling and awful. It's going to get him sweating he realizes as Swiss continues. His skin feels hot from the hits, prickly, matching the burning of his cheeks against the cool sheets, hands twisting in the fabric by the time he reaches the count of ten.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

His eyes are damp at fifteen, cursing a blue streak with number sixteen after he manages to speak it, his shoulders and back tense. It's rougher than Swiss has been with him in quite some time, and with each hit to one cheek and then the other, the way the sensation compounds has his breath hitching. Number twenty is the worst, the hardest yet, forcing a small whimper that he can't keep in. "Wrong," Swiss says, sing-song and so goddamn pleased with himself. The tone and correction drip ice down his spine, and shocked, Dew shoves himself up to glare at him.

"It was not," he grits out, but the thread of nervousness takes the edge off his tone, exposes him. Swiss continues to look amused.

"I'm telling you it was wrong," he says, scratching over the reddened skin painfully, before he grabs a handful and squeezes, digging his fingers in further, wrenching a sad sound out of him. He's going to be bruised for sure, and if past experience has taught him anything, Swiss will grab him and dig into the marks to make it hurt all over again.

"I know I got it right," Dew argues, "I didn't fuck up."

Swiss sighs, and brings his free hand to his groin, palming himself through his trousers, and Dew zeroes in on the motion, mouth going dry when he sees just how hard he's gotten from hitting him. He's in the same boat, cock red between his legs, and from how he's leaning on his arms, it would be easy to balance on one and reach to jerk himself off. The look on Swiss's face tells him that he won't be getting away with that like he did the little humps he'd done earlier.

"If I tell you it's wrong, it's wrong," Swiss says. "And we'll restart as many times as it takes."

It clicks into place then, as Swiss lands another hard hit and Dew collapses back down, screwing his eyes shut as he gives up one. Dew will never get it right, even if he does.

The next twenty have him out of his mind. Skin electrified, mind blank, sheets dotted with a few tears he can't blink back. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much and he can't decide if he wants to do another round or if he wants Swiss to say he counted correctly this time. Swiss offers no feedback at all when twenty is spoken, just goes back to scratching, as if that somehow counts as giving him a break.

"Looks painful," Swiss comments, and though Dew might be miserable, he can take some solace in the way his tormentor's voice is lower, clearly aroused and- he's probably so much harder now. Desperate to fuck him now, surely. Not continue this charade. Neither one of them are endless wells of patience, and hopefully Swiss isn't about to turn over a new leaf now. Dew takes slow, deep breaths to steady himself, in through his nose and out through his mouth. "You should see how pink you are here. You can give yourself a couple strokes, if you want."

Dew is shoving a hand between his legs without hesitation, grabbing at himself awkwardly, shifting onto his knees a fraction, just to give himself some access. It's a testament to his brand of fucked up that he's as hard as he is throughout all of the spanking, burning hot in his hand, sticky at the tip as he pulls at himself roughly. Swiss laughs at the desperation, and abandons the scratching to sneak his hand under to tickle his balls. The undignified squeak of surprise happens before Dew has time to realize he's making it, the way the fingertips touch him making him clench.

"What a pretty hole," Swiss murmurs, and Dew's face burns further as he realizes of course Swiss can see the way he's made it wink. It makes him feel so exposed-

Swiss forces his shoulders down with a heavy hand in the middle of his back, and Dew loses all room he has to stroke himself properly, and caught underneath.

"Ass up," Swiss orders, and Dew can't help himself:

"I don't think I can take more," he admits, even as he does so, putting up no fight at all. "Hurts, it- fuck, I'm really fuckin' sore." To his dismay, Swiss is back to grabbing at his cheeks, rough and cruel, and he really isn't sure how he can take another round of spankings if Swiss is going to be just as heavy handed. But he will, if that's what he wants. His brain is so fuzzy. It's out of his hands, as it were, if Swiss continues to decide that he can't count, but this is so much rougher than they've played in so long, and maybe this will be the last round? Maybe, he thinks, as Swiss spreads him and leans in to spit on his hole, maybe he looks to enticing now for him to resist moving on to fucking him proper.

"How much does it hurt?"

"S'bad," Dew slurs, steeling himself for more. He's earned something nicer by now, right? Or maybe his reward will be limited only to having made Swiss happy by his suffering. He could be okay with that, probably. If Swiss tells him he's impressed or proud with how he did afterwards, that would probably be enough. His head is swimming, nervous for the next hard hit. He'll have to bury his face to muffle the sounds he'll make next, because he knows he's moments away from yelling with it.

"More specific."

"I can feel your handprints," Dew says, with difficulty. "I'm gonna be feeling them for a while."

"And whose fault is that?" He pinches, and Dew whimpers.

"Mine." The pinch repeats and he very nearly bites through his tongue.

"You need me to kiss it and make it better?"

Something sweet and tender. Thank fucking god. Yes, he'd like something gentle, some kind of reward for the pain, for his ability to keep still and let Swiss treat him like this. He's so fucking hard, if Swiss could wrap a big hand around him and make him cum, he'd be okay suffering through Swiss fucking him while it was all too sensitive and too much. Without another thought, without considering the words, he agrees, with a yes please.

Swiss has dipped down, spread him further, and is dragging a tongue over Dew's hole, and the regret blooms. He does cry out, tries to shuffle away, but Swiss holds him fast.

"Fuck, Swiss, you can't-"

"Pretty sure I can," he says, repeating the wide lick, and Dew feels so small. So fucking useless, desperate to crawl away against the shame of having a tongue right there, desperate for Swiss to continue because despite the embarrassment, the feeling of violation to be pleasured like that, it feels so fucking good and he can't stand it. He could press himself back against Swiss's mouth. He won't, but privately he longs to.

Swiss continues to lap at him, and Dew's legs begin to tremble finely, body tense, holding his breath randomly as the sensation of being rimmed has him forgetting how to draw proper breath. Maybe he had fucked his counting up after all? It was his fault and not a game? Swiss pushes his face in closer and slithers his tongue faster and Dew cringes, cock throbbing, hole fluttering- and Swiss feels it. No way to hide.

He feels insane. Sick with shame and how much he loves it, sure that fluid is beading at the tip of his dick, mirroring the way unwilling tears start gathering on his lashes. With a lewd sucking sound, Swiss pulls his head back.

"It's this or getting spanked," Swiss says, and nips sharply at his ass. "You pick."

“Aeth, do you know where Jakob put - Why in the name of all the nine circles are you up there again?” 

Aether caught himself with one hand on the ceiling, narrowly avoiding falling off the counter he was standing on as he turned to face Omega. “Tidying. Like you told me to.” 

Omega sighed and stepped down the little flight of stairs that separated the storeroom from the main infirmary. “You know we have ladders?” 

“It was faster to just climb up,” Aether shrugged. He leaned against the wall casually, grinning as Omega made no effort to hide how closely he was watching in case the human fell. “What did Jacke hide this time?” 

“The new batch of Styx water. Navpreet’s coming in for his checkup and I want to get him started on it as soon as I can.” 

“Is that the big green bottle full of stuff that looks like blood and smells like dirt?” 

Omega winced delicately and nodded. 

Aether gestured at the collection of bottles and jars on the table in the middle of the room. “In there, somewhere. Probably near the middle. Oh, wait, I see it, move your hand to the left, it’s right next to -” 

“Aha.” Omega made a soft noise of satisfaction as he extracted the huge glass bottle. “Thank you.” 

“I mean, I did more to lose it than to find it,” Aether replied, turning around again to resume his task. “Why’re you giving him Styx water instead of river mallow extract?” 

“Asthma,” Omega replied simply, and Aether gave a quiet ah. 

“Should have remembered that.” 

“Give yourself time, kit.” Aether scoffed dramatically at the affectionate nickname. “While you’re up there, can you check how we stand for blue cannulae?” 

“Yes, chief.” It took Aether a few moments to locate the right box, and a few more to look into it without tipping himself off the counter. “One full box and one that’s… about a quarter-full.” 

Omega tutted quietly. “Gonna have to reorder ahead of schedule.” 

“Then tell Polaris to curb their stabbing habits.”

“He’s a ‘him’ today.” 

“That doesn’t excuse him being a vampire!” Aether called after him as he climbed the stairs back to the infirmary. Even with his back turned, Omega’s warm, fond chuckle rumbled through the human’s chest, already familiar and comforting in a way he had no way of fully explaining. 

With a satisfied sigh, he shoved the box back into place and leaned against the little window that lit the room. Too high to look out of if he was using the floor like a normal person, but perfectly placed when he perched up here, as he sometimes did for this exact purpose. It gave a perfect ground-level view across the little courtyard outside, the low wall that separated it from the rest of the grounds, the huge oxel tree with its gorgeous, thick drapery of white blossoms. 

And today, apparently, Dew. 

A warm contentment filled Aether’s chest slowly as he watched his friend, perched on the little wall with a cigarette between his fingers and his face turned towards the spring sunlight that picked out the gold in his copper hair and the stars of his freckles. A little of his sharp bearing had faded, his posture just a little looser, more relaxed. Not that his usual uprightness didn’t suit him, didn’t drape across him comfortably like a well-fitted cloak. But like this, he looked… more at peace. Aether knew very little of Dew’s past, other than the vague allusions that had slipped through in their conversations, but he knew that the ghoul’s childhood had been far from comfortable or safe. To see him happy like this, however briefly, was a blessing he was sure he’d always be grateful for. 

As he watched, a bundle of black fluff hopped up onto the wall next to Dew. A tiny black cat, facing away from Aether, but he still saw the way it looked up at Dew with the absolute fearlessness of a creature who knew from experience that this was a trusted, safe person. Dew’s head tilted to the side, affection written plainly across his sharp features, and his lips moved silently as he greeted the little animal, who batted at him until he started petting. The fluffy black body leaned up to chase his touch, paws wrapping around his wrist with all the insistence of a princess demanding her next glass of champagne. Aether watched Dew laugh, the sound inaudible through distance and glass, but he heard it in his mind just as clearly as if he was right there. Soft and easy, and full of gentle affection. 

He murmured something, and the kitten took a few fearless steps towards him, setting tiny front paws on his knee and leaning up towards his cigarette curiously. Aether saw the red glow of the burning end fade instantly as Dew pulled it away quickly and waved a finger in mock scolding at his guest. He recognized the shape of the words on his lips. Anii-nii-nii-nii. Lekho kan. ‘No, no no no. Not yours.’ 

He’d never seen Dew so gentle. So… soft. It felt like he could keep watching forever. 

A flash of movement behind him flashed in the glass and dragged his attention back to the present. There was always someone coming into the infirmary, always something to do. He allowed himself one last lingering look outside, and hopped off the counter, landing on the floor with a satisfied oof. He hadn’t realized, in all the years he’d spent trained into solemnity and seriousness, how much he missed harmless silliness. 

“Can I do anyth-” 

His words trailed off instantly, friendly bedside manner fading into tense silence as quickly as drawing breath. 

Mountain. 

Not looking angry, exactly. But with all the irritation that he’d come to expect from the earth ghoul. Maybe a little more. Like being in Aether’s presence was a huge imposition. 

“Uh… Hi.” 

Mountain rolled his eyes. “What d’you want for dinner?” 

The question was so unexpected, Aether literally felt the gears of his brain grinding to a halt. “... Huh?” 

The tut of derision Mountain let out could have won awards. “Are you aware of the meal known as ‘dinner’?” 

“I’ve experienced it once or twice, yes,” Aether replied, not quite matching the venom in Mountain’s voice, but certainly coming close to it. It irritated him to hear it, but God, he was getting tired of this animosity. “You don’t usually take my preferences into account, is all.” 

“Well, Zeph said it was your turn to choose tonight,” Mountain sniffed in a tone that very clearly demonstrated his opinion on the matter. “So choose something, because my hips hate me more than usual today and I want to go and sit down.” 

“Uh…” Aether’s thoughts buzzed around his head at a hundred miles an hour. For a moment he forgot every food he’d ever eaten, never mind enjoyed. “Can you make the, uh… the white soup? With the vegetables?” 

Mountain groaned. “I could make sommarsoppa in my sleep, can’t you want something interesting?” 

“I mean, if you don’t -” 

“No, no, I’ll make soup. We’ve got frozen vegetables, at least it won’t take me very long.” Mountain cricked his neck to the side with a wince, and even through all the mutual annoyance Aether’s heart twinged with sympathy. “Do you want gurksallad?” 

“Well, you probably want pizzasallad, and we already have some in the fridge.” Truth be told, Aether wasn’t used to the unpleasantly sour scent of the cabbage dish that Mountain had been known to eat direct from the container with a fork. But if it made him happy, he was more than willing to put up with it. “I don’t know if we have enough cheese, though.” 

Mountain waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll scrounge some up somewhere. Why don’t you get back to work making a mess of Omega’s infirmary, and I’ll go and do something useful.” 

Before Aether could react, Mountain was already out of the room, hands in his pockets without a care in the world. Aether watched him leave, half-tempted to call him back and start an argument just to break the tension, and took a few long, slow breaths until the urge dissipated. 

“Who was that?” Omega’s voice asked from behind him, and Aether shook the thoughts from his head and did his best to return to his usual jovial self. 

“Mountain.” 

Omega raised an eyebrow cautiously. “Everything okay?” 

“Well, if I don’t come to work tomorrow, don’t worry, I’ve just been poisoned by soup,” Aether laughed. 

Omega gave a quiet hmm, half amused, half dismissive. “He wouldn’t dare.” Before Aether could open his mouth to reply, the ghoul had slipped behind the front desk and picked up a package about the size of an apple, and Aether gasped guiltily. “What’s this?” 

“Shit, I forgot, Cardinal Terzo brought that for you about an hour ago. While you were dealing with Elin’s knee.” Omega hummed softly in understanding, turning the carefully-wrapped package over in his hands gently. “I hope it’s okay, he didn’t say what it is and he left before I could ask.” 

“It’ll be fine, kit,” Omega assured him with a smile that was a little softer than his usual warm friendliness. “If he does this again - actually, when he does this again, because he will - unless he says so, you don’t need to do anything about it.” He untied the deep purple ribbon holding the fabric around the bundle, unfolding it in his hand to reveal a small stack of what looked to Aether like thin pieces of cake. Just a little thicker than crackers, and a deep red shade that was unfamiliar but oddly appetizing. Picking one from the top of the pile, he bit it in half with a happy little noise, holding the package out to Aether. “Have you tried spring cakes yet?” 

Aether shook his head, reaching out cautiously - he was curious, but these were obviously specifically for Omega, and he didn’t want to take what wasn’t meant for him. Omega, however, just smiled affectionately as he crunched and held them out a little more, and Aether took one gratefully. 

It was a texture unlike anything he had ever experienced, but in only the very best way. For all that it was light and delicate in his fingers, it resisted him almost like the skin of a peach as he bit into it, an earthy flavor somewhere between green tea and cardamom filling his senses. He looked at Omega incredulously, and the ghoul laughed. “Good, huh?” Aether nodded with a pleased little mumble that he hoped communicated just how good it was. “It’s made with redleaf. Traditional ghoul snack for this time of the year. Strictly speaking, we call them khanse nushiine, but you humans are weirdly unwilling to eat something called ‘blood cake’.”

“I mean, people eat blood pudding,” Aether shrugged through a mouthful of crumbs. “Wait, that reminds me, can I ask you something?” 

“You know I encourage you to ask me anything,” Omega replied as he tied the package back up and dusted crumbs off his hands. “What is it?” 

“So I know khanse means blood, and I think ruujiinne is face?” 

“‘Cheeks’, really. It’s plural, it has the -ne on the end.” Omega tilted his head slightly, a gesture Aether recognized as encouraging him to go on. 

“So, why would someone say their cheeks are bloody?” 

Omega laughed softly as he gathered up a stack of files. “It means they’re blushing. There’s blood in their cheeks, not necessarily on them.” 

“Oh. That’s… actually kind of cool.”

“Call me biased, but Ghoulish does have some excellent metaphors.”

“You’re biased.” 

Omega leaned across the desk to whack the smugly-grinning human gently on the head with a file. “I knew letting you be in the same pack as Ifrit would come back to bite me.” 

Aether grinned wider, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth, and he couldn’t deny the warm happiness that glowed in his chest that Omega considered him to be in Ifrit’s pack. He wasn’t sure he agreed with it himself, but it was oddly comfortable to hear someone else say it for the first time. 

(Ifrit found it absolutely hilarious when Aether told him about it later over dinner. Mist groaned in horrified realization.)

Slowly but surely, he settled into this weird new world he’d found himself in. He was pretty sure it would always feel just a little strange, but it would be the kind of strange that makes the world seem brighter and more interesting. And, sitting in the cathedral during what was obviously a very important ceremony, he knew that nothing would feel stranger to him than the difference in the way this new world worshipped. 

Truthfully, Aether had hesitated about even coming. He wasn’t anything close to a real member of this church, he would probably be gone soon enough anyway, so what right did he have to take part in its most sacred and intimate ceremonies? But Emme (or rather, Martum, as he would have to keep reminding himself for a while) had specifically asked him, face to face, in front of the whole pack, and he couldn’t in all conscience refuse them. Not when they looked so bright and joyful. Not when his presence at their profession of vows clearly meant so much to them. 

He’d attended the final profession of some distant cousin, long ago. All he remembered of the day was the painful stillness and solemnity in the church, and the look on her face as she walked up to the altar. The only way he’d ever been able to describe it was ‘fear’. And when she spoke her vows into the empty echoes of the cathedral her voice shook in a way that had nothing to do with joy. As he sat in this new, strange cathedral, among a buzz of joy and color, below endless garlands of flowers and leaves and jewel-bright tapestries depicting stories he could never imagine, buried deep in an atmosphere he had never dreamed could have a place in this kind of ceremony, all he could feel was excitement. 

(Granted, a significant portion of that excitement was probably less about the ceremony itself and more in anticipation of the afterparty, which the others had assured Aether would be unlike anything he had ever experienced. Which was exciting and intimidating in equal measure. But he’d learned quickly that, in this church, celebrating Mass and just plain simple celebrating often took very similar forms.)

Not that he was paying much attention to the ambience right now. He’d lost his place in his prayerbook again, turned two pages by accident at some point and nearly dropped it and fumbled the catch, and now he had no idea what was happening anymore. Papa’s voice, usually so imposing and impressive in the echoes of the cathedral, had turned to nothing more than a droning buzz in his ears as panic began to grip him, certain that everyone in the church was staring at him with disdain. The flipping of his pages was ruining the ceremony and Martum and Nuray would never forgive him for casting a shade on their vows for the rest of all their lives. 

A short, quiet tutting sound grabbed his attention, and it took a few heartbeats for his mind to recognize it not as disappointment, but as the sound the ghouls made to indicate they were trying to help. He looked up to his left, expecting to see Mist or Ifrit ready to offer something, but Mist just nodded forwards, towards Brother Deo in the pew in front of them. When Aether followed her gaze, he saw the older man holding his own missal up over his shoulder, one long bony finger indicating the right page number. 

“Thank you,” he hissed, quiet enough under the choir’s singing that no-one but the monk would hear him, and Deo gave a dismissive little wave, brushing the thanks away before he lowered his book again. 

He lowered his gaze back to his prayerbook and promptly fumbled it all over again. 

“Oh, for -” Mountain hissed at his side, and Aether flinched instinctively, waiting for the vicious words undoubtedly ready to spring at him. But Mountain just shoved his own book into Aether’s hands, turning the page for him and pointing to the proper section as he snatched the half-closed missal out of Aether’s grip. “Move to the green ribbon after the next hymn.” 

“What -” 

“Shh.” Mountain nodded towards the front of the church, returning to his habitual refusal to acknowledge Aether’s existence without missing a beat. Mist’s hand settled gently on his thigh, comforting and familiar, and Aether took the hint. There was nothing he could do about it right now - at least, nothing that wouldn’t ruin the ceremony. So he settled the book in his hands and turned his attention back to the altar dais.

Oh. 

He’d somehow forgotten about that. 

There were others at the altar, Papa and his altar servers and, of course, Nuray and Martum. But all of Aether’s attention was fixed on one figure, in the midst of the seven humans and ghouls who Zeke had told him represented each of the seven princes of Hell. The one draped in shimmering golden robes, chains and charms dripping from every point it was possible to drip gold from. The one who looked like an actual angel from Heaven - or, he supposed, risen from the pit. 

He’d never seen Dew without his glamour in public. Some small, unpleasant part of him was angry about it, as if Dew should only be unglamoured at home, where only he and the pack could see it. But he pushed that thought down. He had no right at all to dictate what Dew did - he should be glad that his friend was comfortable revealing his true self like this. He should be glad that everyone got to see the way the early sunset caught in the ashy gray of his hair, the freckles dusted across his nose. Like Mammon himself was adorning his representative with tiny flecks of gold. Aether had tried to pay attention to the others, to appreciate the way Sister Detta’s scarlet gown draped over her like a queen’s robe, the elegant sleepy languorousness of Polaris’s every movement… but his eyes drifted back every time to his friend. 

The organ quieted a little as the choir stopped singing, and in his mind Aether could see the way Zeke leaned back from the keys, their playing moving from the intensity of the psalm to something lighter, obviously meant more to underscore than to accompany. Up at the altar, Nuray and Martum took their places at the ornate kneelers, and Papa surrendered his place at the head of the ceremony to the seven figures who all seemed to glow from within with something Aether had searched for his whole life and never truly found. 

He blamed it on the psychology of being in the midst of so much worship, but for just a moment he swore he felt a flicker of it at last. 

He watched as the first ‘prince’ stepped forward, a beautiful woman he knew vaguely by sight, her soft curves now draped in rich elegant purple with her wild blonde hair pulled back into an elaborate knot beneath a jagged circlet of silver. She picked up the little bronze pot from the kneeler in front of Martum and dipped her thumb into the contents. With a serene smile, she anointed their forehead, her lips moving in a blessing of thanks that was only for them to hear, leaning down to kiss the crown of their head before stepping to the side to offer Lucifer’s gratitude to Nuray. 

No matter how hard he tried to look away, Aether could not take his eyes off Dew as he stepped forward to Martum. The way the gold chains around his wrist shimmered in the candlelight as he picked up the anointing oil, the graceful strength of his movements. The look on his face as he bowed his head, somehow simultaneously full of endless love and a sharp, knowing pride. The way his long fingers curled into their hair, possessive and claiming as if someone might try to snatch them away from him. The way his mouth moved as he murmured Mammon’s blessing to the human before him, thanking them on behalf of his prince for their piety and devotion, promising protection and wisdom from the Duke in Gold. Aether couldn’t hear the words, they weren’t for him to hear, but he knew the shape of some of them on Dew’s lips. Strength. Love. Unholy Name. The words of prayer, of faith, of acceptance into a world full of community and protection. 

The beautiful scarlet of Sister Detta stepped up to take his place as Dew moved to Nuray, and for a couple of seconds Aether was able to tear his attention away from his friend to appreciate her. Where Dew-as-Mammon was grace and power, Detta-as-Satanas was strong, sharp, the deadly beauty of an approaching storm. Feminine and alluring in a way that, until this exact moment, had never affected Aether in the slightest. 

When he was younger, he’d just assumed he wasn’t attracted to women. Suddenly he realized that maybe he’d just never met a woman who looked like she could pin him to the floor with one fingernail. 

Something twisted deep in his gut at the thought. Not at all unpleasantly, but wholly unexpected, and something he was completely unprepared to deal with or process. He shook his head instinctively to knock the thought loose, and Mist’s hand tightened in concern on his thigh. He ignored it and returned his attention to Dew, just in time to see him bend to kiss Nuray’s hair and move away. 

For just a moment, the twisting feeling was replaced by a sharp spike of pure burning envy, but it was gone almost too fast for him to even recognize it. In the space of a heartbeat his attention was back on the mass, watching the ‘princes’ give their blessings to the siblings who were swearing their loyalty and piety to them and their church. Eventually they all stepped aside, their gratitude and kisses given, and Papa stepped back to the center of the dais. He handed his ferula to Cardinal Terzo and laid his hands gently on the heads of the siblings before him, far more gently than Aether had ever seen him do anything. Even from his place in the pews, he could see the tiny smile of paternal pride on the face of a man who had never inspired anything except fear in him. 

The music of the organ swelled again, and Aether’s body moved to his feet on instinct to follow the tide of everyone around him. Standing between Mist’s tiny frame and Mountain’s towering height, he felt suddenly unbalanced, like he would either topple over or be crushed. Until something tapped insistently at his arm, warm and familiar and heavy, and he reached for it automatically even before he looked to see Ifrit grinning at him over Mist’s head. He grabbed Aether’s hand, entwining their fingers behind her back, and all at once that horrible unbalanced feeling vanished. He felt grounded, protected, surrounded by affection and security. 

It was bizarre. But so unbelievably welcome. And totally natural. 

He returned Ifrit’s grin and leaned into Mist’s side to share her hymnbook. 

The afterparty, as promised, was beyond his wildest imagination - although, in his defense, his imagination still wasn’t very wild. A joint and waking up in a bed that wasn’t his own still constituted an outrageously adventurous night to his sheltered mind. Sure, doing shots and eating so much delicious food he forgot which dishes he had and hadn’t tried yet wasn’t, in itself, particularly outlandish. But to a man whose entire experience of partying hard involved having one more beer than he was used to at the parish new year’s party and standing on a table to recite The Jabberwocky, it was pretty damn wild. 

Fortunately, Dew had promised him that the Saint Freyvid’s day party would be much more manageable. It was, strictly speaking, a fairly small feast day, but because it usually coincided with the weather really starting to warm up and Freyvid was a saint of joy in the face of suffering, it had become a tradition to celebrate the day with a party. Cold drinks, warm sun, as much fresh fruit as could be obtained, and time spent with your community. 

Aether had expected Sweden to be much colder, even in late May. But there was a warm wind drifting around the clearing that apparently held every inhabitant of the Abbey that filled the air with a lazy atmosphere of enjoyment. Everywhere there were people gathered around tables and on blankets, spread out to bask in the last few rays of the day’s sunlight, playing games or just enjoying the evening’s pleasures. 

With the chatter, the laughter, the shrieks of excitement from the few who had braved the lake’s still-chilly waters, and the warm evening sun on his skin, Aether couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so genuinely, uncomplicatedly happy. 

He sighed happily as he took a sip of his drink, some strange sugary concoction that Mist had presented to him with such certainty that he would like it that he would feel obliged to enjoy it even if she hadn’t been completely right. There was strawberry in it, he was sure, and some kind of fruit that he’d never heard of before - frankly he wasn’t even sure if it was from Earth or Hell, and couldn’t remember the name to ask. 

As long as he got to try it again, he didn’t really mind. 

“So you just…. throw the balls at the other ball?” 

Dew made a quiet noise of amusement. “You make it sound so impossible.” 

“I’m not saying it’s impossible,” Aether replied. “I just… I’ve seen tak balls. They’re the size of apples.” 

“Archers can literally split arrows with other arrows and you think it’s impressive to throw two apples at each other?” 

“I’ve never played it, I don’t know the practicalities!”

“So tomorrow we’ll borrow Ivy’s set-up and - Ifrit, will you just go and fucking talk to him?” 

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Ifrit scowled, wriggling further down in his chair sullenly. “What’s he gonna say?” 

“I dunno, he might say ‘Oh, Ifrit, thank the Prince, I’ve needed you for years, please take me to your room and rail me like you’re tryin’ to put a litter in m-’” 

“Can you shut the entire fuck up?!” Ifrit interrupted frantically, swatting across the table at Dew, who only gave the wicked little grin that Aether had only ever seen him turn towards Ifrit. 

“Why are you so fuckin’ scared?” 

“Have you seen him?” 

“I’ve seen more of him than you have, apparently.” 

“Bitch -”

“What is going on?” Aether muttered under his breath to Zeke, too quietly to be heard over the bickering that Mist and Mountain were now joining in with. Zeke nodded their head towards a group on the other side of the clearing, ghouls and humans gathered around a table and playing some kind of drinking game with a deck of cards. 

“See the one with the rusty hair and the two little rings in his ear?” Aether nodded, taking a moment to really look at the ghoul, a lazy grin on his sharp glamoured features as he flipped a card over to excited cheers from the rest of the group. “That’s Cowbell. Ifrit’s had a crush on him for months now and he refuses to make a move.” 

Aether made a quiet noise of understanding. He could see the appeal. He’d seen Cowbell around without knowing his name, and the confidence and nonchalance that emanated from him was weirdly magnetic. And, of course, he was attractive - Aether was starting to understand the subtle differences between human and ghoul beauty standards, but by either metric, Cowbell was striking at the very least and downright gorgeous at best, even in his glamour. “Never imagined hellbeasts getting shy about their crush.” 

“Ghouls are just people from a different place, Arch,” Zeke replied as Mist leaned over the table to smack Ifrit on the head. “And some of us can’t even say that much about ourselves.” 

Aether glanced sideways at his best friend, wary and apologetic, but Zeke was grinning so broadly in amusement that he couldn’t help but join in. 

“What is it gonna take to get you fuckers off my back about this?” Ifrit demanded, his voice breaking through the little bubble that separated Aether and Zeke from the rest of the pack. 

“Talk to Bell.” The response came perfectly in unison from the other ghouls, and Aether couldn’t hold back his laugh as Ifrit groaned loudly in exasperation and collapsed face down on the table. 

“I hate you all. Except Aether.” 

“Talk to Bell, Iff.” 

“Okay, now I hate you all.” 

Aether laughed again as he leaned back in his chair, reaching under the table with his foot to knock it affectionately against the fire ghoul’s leg. Mist ruffled Ifrit’s messy blond curls as she stood up, glancing at Dew with a conspiratory grin that Aether was pretty sure she didn’t think he could see. Dew returned it, and Zeke tutted softly - by now, Aether was accustomed to the fact that they were able to have conversations without him, but he was getting better at noticing when they were happening. His stomach filled with a low burn of apprehension, but Mist was gone from the table before he could question it. For a moment, he thought she was about to go and make Ifrit’s decision for him, but she seemed headed towards the long table that was serving as a bar instead. “It’s very disconcerting when you all do that.” 

“Haha, your turn,” Ifrit mumbled from his face-down position on the table. Dew elbowed him sharply in the bicep, and he finally sat up again, clutching his arm and glaring like a cat disturbed from their sunbeam nap. “Heeeey! You have to be nice to me, I’m a baby!” 

“You are literally a creature of the pits of Hell,” Mountain said with a sigh that turned to a wince as he stretched his legs out. Ifrit scowled. 

“I am not, I was born perfectly human and so were y-” 

“Shut up, kits, no arguing during drinking time,” Mist announced as she arrived back at the table, carrying a huge bottle and a stack of the tiny drinking bowls that Aether had initially mistaken for the dishes that fancy Japanese restaurants served soy sauce in. He helped clear the table, pushing the empty glasses aside to make room for the new additions while Mist distributed the bowls and handed the bottle off to Dew to open. “You haven’t tried sunsyrup yet, have you, Aeth?” 

“Not yet, no,” Aether replied, his danger senses prickling immediately at the matching grins that appeared on the faces of Mist, Dew and Ifrit - and, to a lesser extent, Zeke. “Do I want to?” 

“I was just about to ask you that,” Mist replied breezily - a little too breezily for Aether’s liking - as she began to pour shots of what he assumed was sunsyrup. “It’s a drink from the Pit. Very traditional.” 

“It’s like akvavit,” Ifrit added innocently. Aether raised an eyebrow. 

“You’ve seen me drink akvavit. I hate it.” 

“Are you being culturally insensitive, Arthur?” Zeke grinned. “That’s not like you at all.” 

“Come on, live a little,” Dew drawled, so visibly delighted that it made Aether’s chest hurt. “Or I’ll think you don’t actually like it here.” 

Aether groaned and buried his head in his hands for a moment. “Fine, I will drink the weird Hell drink, if it’s so important to you all.” 

To an accompaniment of various noises of excitement, Aether picked up the little bowl in front of him, tilting it a little to watch the pale orange liquid inside swirl in the dying afternoon sun. It released a cloud of its scent at the movement, sharp and bitter but still a little enticing, almost like the local herbal spirits he’d enjoyed in Milan. What did he really have to lose? He was pretty certain by now that they weren’t trying to kill him, and if they were they’d do it in a much more interesting way than by poisoning his drink. 

He raised the bowl to his mouth - and found it blocked by Mountain’s hand. 

“You’re not supposed to drink it neat,” the earth ghoul sighed, and the others groaned in a chorus of annoyance. “They’re playing a prank, it’s tradition.” “Oh, come on -”

“For fuck’s sake, Mount…” 

“Fuck you, tall boy,” Ifrit grumbled, visibly annoyed but completely empty of malice. Just a prankster whose mischief has been discovered. Mountain stuck his tongue out at them all and tipped his own shot into his half-empty glass. “Dude, that’s blackberry wine.” 

“And I happen to like sunsyrup in my blackberry wine,” Mountain replied nonchalantly. He glanced sideways at Aether, for just a moment, before returning his gaze to the card game. Not even long enough for Aether to give him a small, baffled smile. Mountain had slowly been pulling back on his hostility, but he had never made an outright gesture of support. Truth be told, it stung a little that Mountain wouldn’t even look at him to acknowledge his thanks. But, he reasoned, it hurt less than the constant attempts to trip him. So he’d accept it happily. 

While the others settled back into easy conversation, he glanced sideways at Dew. Like Ifrit, he had been good-naturedly annoyed to have their prank discovered, but hadn’t made a fuss beyond the initial complaining. But Aether still saw the disappointment in his eyes, well-hidden but visible to someone who knew what to look for. 

He glanced down at the cup in front of him. 

Well, it wouldn’t kill him. 

He lifted the bowl and, carefully, took the tiniest sip, barely more than allowing the liquid to touch his lips. 

“Ugh -” He spluttered and put the bowl down immediately, grimacing hard at the bitter burn that seemed to coat his whole mouth as the rest of the group burst into incredulous laughter. It really was like the cheapest, most acrid whiskey imaginable, herbal and sour without even the pleasant woody smoke that was the only reward for drinking scotch. “What the fuck -”

“Arch, you’re fucking insane,” Zeke cackled, patting his back amicably and pushing his drink towards him. He grabbed it and drank it down gladly, draining half the glass in one swallow. 

“Not as insane as you two, apparently!” he groaned, scrubbing at his lips as he glared at a cackling pair of ghoul siblings as if sunsyrup was their own invention. “You fuckers drink this? For fun?”

“You okay?” Dew grinned, and Aether nodded reluctantly. 

“Well, I’m not dead. Yet.” 

“Good, keep it that way.”  

“I’m glad you decided to heed my warnings,” Mountain drawled, one eyebrow raised in something Aether could only assume was disappointment. 

“I was curious!” he replied defensively. “At least I didn’t throw the whole thing back at once!” 

With a soft dismissive hm, Mountain looked away across the clearing. His gaze clearly met with someone, and he nodded at them and pushed himself to his feet. “Earth ghoul council. Don’t wait up for me. You gonna be okay?” he added, looking at Zeke, and they waved him away. 

“Go and perform your ancient rituals, I’ll be fine.” 

Mountain cast one long, calculating look at Aether, before huffing dismissively again and walking away. 

Aether waited until he was sure the ghoul was well out of earshot before he spoke. “‘Earth ghoul council’?” 

“They’re gonna get high as God’s balls and talk to the rocks,” Mist replied. Dew snorted out a laugh, despite how he glared at her for her language. “Shut up.” 

“I didn’t fuckin’ say anyth-” 

“I’m gonna talk to him.” Ifrit was out of his seat before any of them had fully registered he was moving, grabbing his glass to drain it in one go and handing it blindly to Dew. They all watched, open-mouthed in shock at the sudden burst of confidence, as he strode across the clearing towards the group where Bell was still sitting. 

“Okay, how drunk is he?” Zeke asked. Mist shrugged. 

“You know he can handle his drink.” They all watched as the crowd around Bell seemed to evaporate, drifting away in couples and trios - but Aether managed to catch one pair glancing back at the two ghouls and whispering to each other with expressions of excitement. “Look, I know we’ve been encouraging him, but do you really think -” 

“I know it,” Dew cut over her, not cold or harsh, just confident. He turned to look at her, covered her hand with his own. “Just wait.” 

Aether watched in silence with the ghouls, all of them barely daring to breathe. Around them, the party continued, but there was nothing any of them wanted to watch except the way Bell leaned back in his chair at the sight of Ifrit, the self-assured smirk that curled his lips. The way he hooked one foot around the leg of an empty chair to pull it into place next to his own. The slow, careful way Ifrit sat down, almost like he was afraid of something blowing up. 

“How long has he been like this?” Aether asked, and Zeke snorted softly in amusement. 

“Gotta be nearly a year.” 

“Eleven months and four days,” Dew added distantly, never taking his eyes off his best friend. There was something in his voice that made Aether’s heart hurt, despite the fact that he didn’t quite understand it. 

They watched in silence for a few more moments, before Mist sighed dramatically and stood up. “Come on, you little shit. I want to play kortkubb.” 

Dew groaned. “Can’t you play with -” 

“Dew, you promised,” she whined, tugging on her brother’s shoulders petulantly. “Come onnnn, I like playing with you…” 

“Lucifer Below, fine, I’m coming…” He rolled his eyes as he stood up, pointedly ignoring his sister’s smug little chirp of victory. “You two gonna be okay?” he asked, glancing between Aether and Zeke. 

“Yes, you can trust us to sit here and not murder each other,” Aether sighed, and at his side Zeke snickered in a way that echoed thousands of memories. “Go on, go and play whatever kortkubb is.” 

“Yeah, come play with me, Dewy,” Mist grinned, and Dew groaned again as he let himself be pulled away by both hands. “Forever and ever and ever…” 

“You are so fuckin’ annoying….” 

Aether chuckled as he watched the pair cross the still-warm grass, switching out to Ghoulish as soon as they were far enough away that he and Zeke couldn’t hear clearly. Despite how different they were in appearance, there was no denying how close they were. It was clear in just the way they glanced in each other’s direction that they would each do anything for the other, in the way they held onto each other that nothing but suffering awaited anyone who tried to separate them. He watched the way Dew’s pretended annoyance faded into an affection that seemed to light him up until even his freckles seemed to glow when he looked at his sister. It really was as easy as breathing to believe that they’d known each other for all their lives. 

“They’d share bones if they could get away with it,” Zeke murmured, and Aether chuckled at how obviously he must have been looking at them. “You okay?”

He glanced at them sideways. “Why?” 

“Just…” They gestured at Dew and Mist, setting up a collection of wooden blocks in a neat line on the grassy ground and bickering merrily as they went. “I never met you and Lizzie together, but I know how much you loved her. Just worried it hurts to see those two so happy.”

Aether shook his head. “Hasn’t hurt in a long time,” he replied quietly, and Zeke hummed in understanding. “I miss her, don’t get me wrong. I miss her with everything I am. Still feels like I’m half a person sometimes.” Another soft hum as Zeke squeezed his hand affectionately. “But she’s been dead for years. Literally decades. It sucks, but it doesn’t hurt. Not anymore.” He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him with a soft groan. “Do you think she’s mad at me for giving up?” 

He felt, more than saw, Zeke turn to look at him. “You really think there’s any chance at all that your own sister would be mad at you for keeping yourself alive?” 

“You know what I -” 

“Arthur, I never knew her, but I know you.” Aether couldn’t help but turn his head to look at his best friend, and the intensity of their gaze made his stomach twist. “And from everything you’ve ever told me, she and you are identical in every way that matters. I know that you’d never want her to put herself through years of pain and suffering, just in the vain hope that maybe a God who’d never truly loved you would show you some mercy.” Zeke slipped their hand under his, palm up and fingers threading in between his own and squeezing. “So why do you think for even a second that she’d expect it from you?” 

He swallowed against the tightness in his throat, squeezing their hand as tight as he dared. “Don’t think I realized how much I needed to hear that,” he muttered. 

“I still got you, dude.” 

“Yeah.” There was no sarcasm in his voice. The bond between them was strong enough again that he knew there was only truth in their heart, that they really did have his back just as they did all those years ago. Even after so long apart, no-one knew him better than the demon at his side. And when they smiled at him, warm and knowing and full of love, it was with the same lips that had shown him for the first time that there truly was light in the world. He returned it easily. There was no need for hesitation anymore. 

“You’re a fucking marvel, Arch,” they said with a fond shake of their head. “Every day, I’m genuinely shocked that you’re not a cold hard husk of a man, after what you’ve been through.” 

“I mean, I’m hard sometimes,” he grinned, watching the fond despair grow on Zeke’s face with nothing short of glee. 

“Why are you like this.” 

“I dunno, but it’s probably at least partially your fault,” Aether replied smugly, and Zeke tutted again. 

“I refuse to take responsibility for your bullshit.” 

“You’re supposed to be my best friend.” 

“Oh, I’m officially your friend again, am I?” Zeke shot back, grinning that broad, teasing smile that still made Aether’s stomach flutter, and he couldn’t do anything but grin back. 

“If you’ll have me.” 

“I mean, thus far, you’re the one who’s had me, and I don’t think my joints could take topping today.”  

Aether threw his head back in delight as he laughed. “Now who’s full of bullshit?” 

“Oh, me, baby - all day, every day.” Zeke winked wickedly as they picked up their drink. A drop of condensation shimmered on the glass in the warm evening air, and Aether chuckled, watching as it ran down their wrist and soaked into the fabric of their sleeve. “Sorry.”

“Huh?” Aether looked up, startled out of his brief reverie, and his heart ached a little at the way the happiness had drained so quickly out of their face into something sad and careful. “No, it’s fine, I swear, I was just…” He sighed, combing one hand roughly through his hair. “But while we’re apologizing, Dew says I owe you one.” 

“Arch, I thought we agreed we weren’t gonna -” 

“No, not for that.” He took a long draught of his own drink for courage, sighing nonchalantly (he hoped) as he set it down on the stained wood of the tabletop. “For never finding your prostate.” 

The words hung between them in the hazy evening air. Waiting. Every sound from the party seemed muted, the world hanging in stasis around them as they did nothing but look at each other. For one horrible, painful moment, Aether regretted every word he’d ever said. 

And then Zeke burst out laughing like that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. 

Aether felt his heart stop beating for a second. All at once, he was back in that stuffy, tiny bedroom, both of them crammed into one little workspace on old tattered chairs half a foot apart to shelter from the outside world, instead of in a lakeside clearing at a Satanic abbey, surrounded by joy and acceptance and celebration. This time, he could watch without guilt as Zeke threw their head back in delight, wisps of hair just long enough to fall into their eyes all over again, golden evening sunlight shining on them just as it had all those years ago. 

He’d thought they looked beautiful then. But it was nothing compared to how they looked now. 

“Fuck me, Arch, you can’t just say that kinda shit to -” Zeke’s laughing trailed off as they caught his eyes again. As they took in the look on his face. “What?” 

Aether barely heard them. Too busy staring, too busy just looking at them. At those bright blue eyes, so much different than he remembered and yet somehow just the same. At the unfamiliar patches of white skin that still shone through their glamour, and the little freckle next to their nose that not even the power of Hell had been able to burn away.  

His eyes flickered back up to theirs, and it was like no time had passed at all since that fateful golden evening. They still pinned him in place like a moth on a board, just with that look that said I know you, I’ve got you, you will always have a place with me. 

Even after all those years, they still looked into him. They still looked at him like they could see every inch of him, every shadow, every fear, every doubt. And they still didn’t care what they found, as long as they found it in him.

This time around, they both moved at the same time. 

Their lips were colder than they used to be. Smoother, too, no longer chapped from pensive biting and careless dehydration. But the feel of them was just the same - gentle, careful, knowing. Familiar. Just like the hand that slipped up his arm and around the nape of his neck, just like the soft huff of breath as they sighed against him, just like the scent of their skin. 

He’d allowed himself to imagine this moment, long ago. Briefly, infrequently, always afraid as if someone would hear his thoughts and punish him for them. Remembrance and fantasy rolled into one, a memory and a vain wish for the future. No matter how hard he tried, he never quite managed to recreate this feeling; the feeling of being home. 

Zeke breathed out a laugh as they pulled apart slowly, so fucking slowly, as if to part too much would kill them both. “You’ve gotten better at that.” 

Aether swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat, willing his eyes not to fill with the tears he felt prickling behind his lids. “Missed you,” he whispered, his mouth blurting out the words before his mind could think of holding them back. “Fuck, missed you so fucking much…” 

They nodded against the hands that were curling around their jawline, possessive and desperate all at once, and when they spoke their voice was just as full of emotion as his own. “I’ve thought about you every day, Arch. I mean that, every fucking day…” They tilted their head just enough to nuzzle their nose gently against his, and it made his breath catch in his throat. “Lucifer forgive me, I knew it was selfish but I fucking wished I’d taken you with me sometimes, I wished I’d protected you like you deserved instead of leaving you there…”

“Can we start again?” He bit his lip to hold back the noise that threatened to burst out of him as their breath hitched just as hard, their free hand coming to rest on his knee and hold on like they were trying to keep themself tethered to the earth. “Without all the guilt, all the fear - just us, Zeke, like we should have had from the start -” 

“Please.” 

Whatever else they were going to say, it was lost. Aether’s mouth crashed against theirs, clumsy and inexpert but so full of desire it made them groan into his mouth in a way he’d only heard twice before. His tongue darted out, driven by newly-developed instinct, and if he hadn’t been sitting already the taste of their mouth would have forced him to his knees. 

“One condition,” they panted against his lips when they finally pulled apart for longer than half a second. 

“Anything.” He meant it. He’d give them anything they wanted, anything they asked for. He pushed forward again, greedy for more, until one of them (he wasn’t sure which) remembered to pull away again so they could speak. 

“We leave those names behind us,” they breathed. “Ezekiel hasn’t existed for years, and I’m pretty sure the Arthur everyone thinks they knew is long gone too.” Aether whined out a vague noise of agreement as they nipped at his lip absently. “I don’t want to remember the fear they lived in, Aether.” 

The sound of that name in their voice was like a fist to the gut. Enough to silence them both, enough to have him opening his eyes and meeting that sky-blue gaze like it was the only fount of courage in the world. 

There was no other answer he could give. He’d known it for longer than he even understood. 

“They’re gone, Zephyr.” Zeph’s breath hitched in their throat and their hands gripped just a little tighter. “They brought us here. Now we give them the rest they deserve.” 

Every gasp of air in his lungs vanished all at once, punched out by the way Zeph dragged him in for another kiss. Bruising and hungry, this time, full of years of need all condensed into one desperate drag of tongue and lips. It was so easy to let them in, to let himself melt even further into their touch. Let their tongue sweep over his own and their hands drag him even closer. 

God, his body ached. He was so fucking hard. 

“Zeph -” 

Zeph mumbled a vague noise of agreement into his mouth, just as frantic and hungry as his own voice. “Greenhouse,” they muttered at last, mouth still half-pressed against his. “Mount has a bed in his workroom.” 

He laughed dizzily into the kiss. All the blood had left his brain and it felt like there wasn’t a single coherent thought in him. “He’ll kill me.” 

“He won’t.” There was a finality in their voice that made him shiver. They’d always been the more confident one, the more willing to take control, but this was something entirely new. And it made the fine hairs on his neck stand up in anticipation. Almost like they could feel it, Zeph gave a knowing chuckle and staggered to their feet, barely even bothering to break the kiss as Aether followed him up. “Come on, Aeth. Let’s see how well Dew’s taught you.” 

They grabbed his hand and dragged him away. And, just like the first time around, he let himself be led along like a lamb to the slaughter. 

After that, everything seemed to fall into place. As if all that had been needed was for that last trace of hesitation between him and Zeph to be washed away. It was like a curtain being pulled away, a light being turned on, and now he could see this new world he lived in, however temporarily, for what it was. A world of freedom, of honesty, a world where no part of him would be turned away. 

And, like a bud that finally sees the sun, he bloomed at last. 

His confidence grew more than he’d dreamed could be possible. He laughed, loud and genuine, every single day. He made friends. He tried everything that was offered to him - food, drink, music, movies, dancing, classes offered by Siblings as part of their vows in every subject from bookbinding to flower arranging. Sometimes he failed (he was pretty sure Sister Kit would never let him near her glass studio ever again), but sometimes he succeeded at things he didn’t even know were an option. Being a priest didn’t really give a man space to discover a talent for carving delicate ornaments out of elk bones, after all. 

He even found himself in a theological study group, entirely by accident. He’d only intended to slip into the room for a moment to borrow something, but the discussion had fascinated him so much that he lingered long enough to be invited to stay, and then to return. Even if he wasn’t going to stay here, he reasoned, more knowledge and understanding of the world would never be a bad thing. 

(He and Ifrit ended up standing in front of Omega like naughty schoolboys together on more than one occasion, trying and failing to hold back their proud grins as the older ghoul simply sighed and muttered to himself that he knew it had been a bad idea, why did he let them end up together, why was he cursed to never know peace for one single moment. Aether could tell by the tone of his voice that, under it all, there was real happiness, no matter how annoyed he might be.) 

He simply lived. He spent his days helping others, learning, enjoying himself, and his evenings surrounded by friends who truly cared for him. By Ifrit’s bombastic energy as warm as the rays of the sun itself, Mist’s subtle playfulness that she only shared with her most trusted people, Dew’s sly humor and unceasing protectiveness. And now, Zeph’s easy, effortless comfort, that they both slipped back into like it had never left them. 

Mountain was… Mountain. But Aether had long ago given up on earning his affection. 

Really, he pondered as he lay on sun-warmed grass with the gentle sound of lapping water a few yards away, he’d take Mountain’s sullenness gratefully if it meant he got the rest of it. This was worth it. 

He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle Mist’s head on his stomach as he adjusted his position. Beneath his head, Ifrit’s thigh was warm and comforting, his fingers careful as they combed idly through Aether’s hair, and above him, in their chair, Zeph turned their face to the fading sunlight and sighed in contentment. He could feel the heat radiating from Dew where he rested on Ifrit’s other thigh, with Mountain using him as a pillow just as Mist lay on him. His head was scant inches away from Aether’s, so close he could smell the spiced citrus of his hair even under the sweet herbal smoke of the joint they were passing between them all. 

This was what he’d been missing his whole life. 

He was glad that the strain they were smoking tonight was as mild as it was. All he felt was a vague softness around the edges of his consciousness, not nearly enough to interrupt his thoughts or get him giggling and stumbling. He wanted to just enjoy this, to float along on the flow of the evening and the energy of his friends around him. 

“... that right, Aeth?” 

“Huh?” He twisted his head upwards towards Ifrit. “Wasn’t listening, what’d you say?” 

“Sister Detta.” 

“Hot. What about her?” 

“Nah, that’s all,” Ifrit grinned, fangs glinting in the sunset, and Aether responded by lifting his head just far enough to drop it heavily onto the ghouls thigh. “Talk to her.” 

“How’s Bell doing, Iff?” Dew drawled, the smirk on his face entirely audible in his voice, and Ifrit whined. 

“You have to be nice to me, I’m a baby.” 

“He’s a baby, Dew,” Aether and Mist muttered at once, and he heard her snicker delightedly as she shifted where she lay. Mountain gave a low, amused snort, the first indication he’d given of being awake in at least twenty minutes, which faded into a quiet purr almost immediately. Dew was probably scratching the bases of his horns. 

“Anyway, guess who Detta told me she saw in the fuck-chard last night,” Ifrit continued from what he had apparently been talking about while Aether was zoned out. Mist made a loud tchk sound of disbelief. 

“You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“Fully bottom-naked, too. Both of them.” 

“I don’t understand this trend of being bottom-naked,” Zeph sighed. “Either commit to nudity or have your pants around your thighs like a normal person.” 

“Why are we calling the orchard the fuck-chard?” Dew’s voice was slurred just a little with smoke and sleepiness. Aether reached blindly behind himself and waved his hand uselessly until he felt the joint being placed between his fingers. 

“Because people fuck there. Obviously.” 

“People fuck everywhere, Aeth, we’re not calling things… like… the fuck-thedral.” 

“We could if you wanted to,” Ifrit offered. 

“I want for you to keep your big fat mouth closed.” 

“I want my strawberries to be ready,” Mountain sighed wistfully. 

Aether chuckled to himself, handing the joint off to Ifrit and letting himself sink into the warm glow of the evening. The comforting pressure of Mist against him, the warmth of Ifrit behind him. The voices of his friends around him. Comfortable, familiar ground beneath him, ground that somehow seemed to accept him like it was a living being with thoughts and opinions. A long, satisfying week stretching out before him, where he was needed, where his work would make a difference. 

A world where he had a place. A world that fucking loved him. 

“I don’t want to leave.” 

Around him, the chattering stopped dead. He felt Mist’s head turning on his stomach, Ifrit’s hand going still in his hair. For a moment the world was motionless. The words had fallen from his mouth before he could even realize he had said them, but now that they were out, he knew they were the truth. 

“What?” Dew’s voice was quiet, not quite confused but definitely not certain. He swallowed hard, twisting around as much as he could to look at him. 

“I…” His breath shook. “I like it here. I like you, all of you. I don’t want to have to go anywhere else, I want to stay here.” 

“Who fucking told you you had to leave?” a voice growled, and it took a long few seconds before he realized it was Mountain. He recognized the tone of the ghoul’s voice - protective, angry. Possessive. Ready to punish anyone who had hurt his pack. And that realization alone made Aether’s chest ache. 

“No-one.” He sat up slowly, dislodging Mist as gently as he could, twisting around to face him and Dew as Mist settled on her knees next to him. “But… when I asked Dew if I could come with him, I said I would stay until I knew where I wanted to go, and that’s what we told Papa, and I’m just taking up space the longer I stay and -”

“Aeth.” Dew’s hot, bony hands clasped his cheeks, silencing him and forcing him to meet those flickering orange eyes. “You are not ‘taking up space’. You’re living your life in a place where you belong.” 

“Omega literally will not shut up about how much he loves having you in the infirmary,” Mist added firmly. 

“And the Siblings fucking love you!” Ifrit insisted as he covered Dew’s hands with his own. It was a silly enough gesture that Aether had to smile, just a little, and he saw the way Ifrit’s eyes glittered with satisfaction at the sound. “You think Martum personally invited everyone in that church?”

“If Papa has a problem with you staying, he can take it up with every one of us,” Mountain told him, so firm and sure of himself that Aether couldn’t help but believe him. He smiled gratefully, weak and shaky, and Ifrit pulled him close to kiss his cheek with a fondness he wasn’t sure he’d ever known before he came here. “Not that he will.” 

“And anyway, he won’t be Papa much longer.” 

“We don’t know that yet!” Ifrit snapped at Mist. “He might convince the Clergy to -” 

“You really think they’re gonna -” 

Zeph cleared their throat, quiet but assertive, and all five of them fell silent instinctively. They met Aether’s eyes, and just that one gesture was enough to make his racing heart slow down. “You said you’d stay until you worked out what you wanted to do,” they said simply. “Seems like what you want to do is stay.” 

The simplicity of it felt like a bucket of water dumped over his head. It hadn’t felt possible, so his mind hadn’t allowed him to consider it, hadn’t even presented it as an option. But…

He could just… stay. 

He looked back at Ifrit, glanced sideways at Mist. Across to Mountain, deep green eyes almost glowing with barely-restrained possessive anger that, for the first time, was a shield around Aether, not a barrier between him and the others. At Dew, the look in his eyes almost unnameable. Somewhere between sadness, determination, and something painfully close to hope. 

He swallowed again, the sound painfully loud in the still dusk air. “I… Can I?” 

The look on Dew’s face melted into exasperated affection, a soft laugh bubbling out of him as he leaned over to press a brief kiss to Aether’s lips. “We’re asking you to.” 

He waited for the others to argue, for any kind of displeasure. But there was nothing except noises of agreement, and Mist tucking herself up against his side, her thin arms draping around his waist. 

“If here is where you want to be, then here is where you belong,” she murmured, and he felt his throat tighten. “We’re yours, if you want us.” 

He could tell, by the way Dew’s fingers tightened on his cheeks, that this wasn’t an idle promise. There was some solemn ghoulish vow buried in those words, something significant being offered to him that wouldn’t be lightly withdrawn. 

He glanced over at Mountain once more, just to make himself certain, and saw nothing but acceptance. The one thing that could have made him turn away was gone.